For such blunders, my merry spirit, or what’s left of it, grew distraught.

I find myself all the more weary as if rocks were stacked high on my shoulders. For what have I done?

I have doubted.

I have deceived.

No one but me.

Time was for blame.

Yet, I cannot blame.

The steady pace of my livelihood had faltered and shattered.

Disappointment was the motive.



What shall I do?

Why is their no repetitive effort?

I shall reflect.

I shall endure.

I shall criticize.

Was I not made for excellency?

Was I?

Time is my enemy but I can create time. 



Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741